


Accidents Happen

by abstractconcept



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Consent Issues, Humor, M/M, Porn, Sex Pollen type of thing, Smut, lust potion, snarody, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 17:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: Snape forces Harry to brew a popularity potion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **NOTES:** I know I’ve played with this kind of plot cliche before (Veritas Vos Liberabit) but I enjoy it so much I had to toy with it again. Not DH compliant at all. Or HBP compliant really, if you think about it. *shrugs* We’ll call it AU, shall we?

He could tell the brat's arm ached. Each swirl of the stick seemed to take more and more effort. Finally, Harry looked up from the cauldron into Snape’s eyes, and Snape forced his lip into a curl as he watched the boy, unimpressed.  
  
“My arm’s getting tired.”  
  
“Keep stirring, you little weakling,” Snape growled.  
  
Harry glowered at the man. “It’s been an _hour,_ ” he complained. “And this stuff is like _mud!_ How much longer?”  
  
“Until it’s finished, Mr. Potter. I’ve no doubt you lack the stamina to complete any number of tasks, and you’re quite used to having your way. You’re used to someone taking up the slack. This time, you’ll find that the job must be done to satisfaction, and it must be finished by your own hand.”  
  
“Or what?” Harry sneered. “What if I stop? What if I just give up, right now?” He paused and Snape lunged across the desk, grabbing Harry’s hand and forcing it to stir the cauldron in jerks and fits as Harry fought him.  
  
“You imbecile! Your stubborn idiocy is beyond comprehension!” Snape stumbled around the desk until he was behind Harry. He held the boy’s slim wrist, forcing him to continue to dredge the stirring stick through the thick concoction. “If you stop stirring now it will—”  
  
Harry elbowed the man in the stomach. The stirring rod clattered to the desk.  
  
Snape stared down at the bubbling mixture as it began to froth. “Potter . . .” he said, the strain in his voice clear even in his own ears.  
  
Potter looked ever so slightly uncertain as he glanced from the mixture—now beginning to turn an angry red—to Snape and back. “What?” he asked. He was still standing far too close.  
  
Snape swallowed hard, then flicked his wand, sending Harry skidding across the room, tripping and stumbling over uneven stones in the floor as he went.  
  
“Snape!” the boy yelled, furious.  
  
Before Snape could answer or make another move, the world exploded.  
  


OoOoOoOoO

  
  
He woke in the hospital wing, not, to his surprise, covered in bandages or healing goop. Not that it would have made any difference. Cautiously, he shifted a little. He wiggled his fingers, and then his toes. They all moved, and they all seemed to be accounted for. He was just starting to relax when a hoarse voice said, “God, I’m so sorry.”  
  
Snape looked up in trepidation. Potter was sitting beside the bed, a look of abject misery on his face. “I almost blew you up,” the boy continued. “I always wanted to, of course, but . . . not really.”  
  
Snape briefly shut his eyes. “Your nobility does you justice,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “Your shirt, on the other hand, is making me ill.”  
  
Harry looked down. “What’s wrong with it?”  
  
“It’s purple, Potter. And not just any shade of purple, but that searing, hideous mutated purple that crawls into your eyes and bores all the way into the back of your brain.”  
  
Harry smiled. “Yeah, it is kind of bright. I rather liked it. Cheery, you know?”  
  
“How long was I out?”  
  
“Two days.”  
  
“Wonderful.” Snape tried to sit up, but his back made a half-hearted attempt at civil protest before descending into total screaming anarchy and sending him flopping back down on the mattress.  
  
“Need some help?” Harry leant over, pulling Snape up and shoving a couple of pillows under his back.  
  
Snape assisted the best he could, feeling weak and furious with his weakness. “Imagine that,” he spat. “A day Potter had a pillow at hand and me, helpless, and wasn’t man enough to smother me. You’re just like your father.”  
  
“You mean my father didn’t go about smothering people, either? Excellent,” Harry replied. “I know, as an arrogant, bullying Gryffindor I’m supposed to be utterly disappointed, but I can’t help feeling a slight bit of relief.”  
  
“Oh, just shut up.”  
  
Harry’s eyes were unfocussed. “Do you smell something?”  
  
Snape gazed at him coolly. “Such as?”  
  
The boy’s eyes began to dilate as he looked at him. “I . . . don’t know. I smelled it when I leaned in close to you. Like some sort of flower.”  
  
“When you had your back turned, I rolled around in a field of daffodils,” Snape replied. “I must have forgotten to mention it.”  
  
“Not like daffodils,” Harry said, leaning closer, until Snape was leaning away. Their faces were only inches from each other. It struck Snape that Potter’s lashes were very thick and dark; the boy’s eyes were drifting shut. “It smells _much_ nicer than daffodils,” Harry whispered.  
  
The next thing Snape knew, the boy was on top of him. _Literally_ on top of him, smooshing his lips against Snape’s in a not-especially-skilled-or-practised way, his hands cupping Snape’s face. Snape pushed him away. “Potter, which of Poppy’s medicines have you been experimenting with?”  
  
“I haven’t,” Harry said breathlessly, then lunged forward to kiss Snape again. Potter was hard—Snape could feel him against his thigh. The boy was beginning to rut against him.  
  
Snape gave him another shove. “You must have,” he argued. “You’re a walking side effect! Not that you haven’t always been,” he allowed after a moment’s thought.  
  
“You hit your head,” Harry fussed, tenderly stroking Snape’s forehead.  
  
“I must have done,” Snape agreed. “Because I’m hearing strange noises.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Like you, _cooing_ at me,” Snape told him, trying to shove him off.  
  
Potter was like a messy-haired limpet, refusing to be budged. “You saved me from the blast of that cauldron and got thrown clear across the room,” he said. “I owe you my life.”  
  
“You could start with giving me my lap back,” Snape said as Potter began sucking his neck.  
  
Harry moaned softly in a way that sent a frisson of unexpected pleasure up Snape’s spine.  
  
“Mr. Potter! What are you doing?”  
  
Snape pushed Harry’s head to one side. “Poppy! He’s _mauling_ me,” he said.  
  
“You love it,” Harry countered.  
  
“You’re revolting,” Snape told him. Madam Pomfrey hustled over and yanked Harry off. Years of hauling unconscious students in and out of hospital beds had given her arms as strong as oxen.  
  
“Severus is in a _very fragile_ state right now!” she scolded. “He had massive head injuries! You seem to think magic can just—just magic his wounds away, but he’s still in some danger. His head needs time to fully heal.” She turned back to Severus. “Now, let’s check the dilation of your eyes. _Lumos!_ ”  
  
Severus held obediently still as Poppy moved the light in front of them. “Well?”  
  
“You seem to be fine,” she said pensively. She leaned in closer. “Severus . . .”  
  
“Poppy?”  
  
“You have lips the colour of cherry cough syrup,” she whispered.  
  
“That is not a prepossessing statement,” Snape said darkly. A moment later, he had a lapful of Madam Pomfrey.  
  
“Oi! You can’t come in here and do that!” Harry roared as the woman proceeded to grope Severus.  
  
“You’re on my turf now, Potter!” she yelled back, banishing him into the hall. She whipped back around, pinning Snape to the bed. “Have I ever told you what an extremely intriguing man I find you?” she growled.  
  
“No!” Snape shouted. “In all possible senses of the word, NO!” He made a dive for his wand on the bedside table, but his back opposed the move in great seizing agony. “Argh!” Poppy was now nipping at his ear.  
  
Snape shut his eyes against the sheer horror. Perhaps he would wake up soon and it find this was all a bad dream. Or not. He let out a shuddery sigh. “O Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul.”  
  
Poppy’s hand wormed its way between his legs.  
  
Snape screamed, wordlessly at first. After Madam Pomfrey’s initial shock and recoil, she came at him again, undeterred, and Snape sucked in a deep breath and howled, “POTTER, SAVE ME!”  
  
The door was blasted inward. One could always count on the boy for that, anyway. Wanton destruction had never seemed more appealing. Potter ran in, soot smudged endearingly on the end of his nose. He pointed his wand at Madam Pomfrey. “Get off of my boyfriend or feel the wrong end of my stick,” he said between clenched teeth.  
  
“Potter,” Snape gasped. “You mishandled the potion. Your massive incompetence could put even bureaucracies and world governments to shame. It was supposed to be a mild popularity potion! Now look what you’ve done! You’ve turned me into—into—some kind of mutated lust machine! I’m a monster!”  
  
“A dead sexy monster,” Harry remarked seriously.  
  
Madam Pomfrey’s hand slipped up Severus’ thigh and Harry shot a Stinging Hex at her, looking annoyed. She jerked her hand back, but already her face was melting into a passive and lovesick mask again. “But he’s so thin and _grouchy,_ ” she purred.  
  
“Get _out_ of here,” Potter demanded.  
  
Reluctantly, Poppy went, with many a longing look at Severus. Snape shuddered. “Thank god,” he remarked when the woman finally closed the door behind her. “We’re alone.”  
  
Potter smiled blindingly. “So now I can have my way with you?” he asked hopefully.  
  
Snape struggled to turn over onto his stomach. “No,” he said. “So now you can give me a back rub.”  
  
“Back rubs lead to sex though, right?”  
  
“Don’t be absurd. A back rub will hopefully lead me to being back on my feet, or at least able to right myself properly.”  
  
“And then comes the sex?”  
  
“You’ve a frighteningly one-track mind.”  
  
“Can I at least compose sonnets about you while I rub your back?”  
  
“Certainly,” said Snape.  
  
Harry grinned. “Good.”  
  
“As long as you don’t say any of them aloud,” the man added. “There’s a vial of healing lotion on the top shelf of the cabinet by the door. Go get it and let’s get to work.”  
  


OoOoOoOoO

  
  
An hour later, Snape was triumphantly limping through the halls, heading for his rooms, where a bottle of firewhisky awaited him. Potter trailed behind like a puppy. Snape tried to ignore him, only shooting him the occasional dirty look. It took a lot of restraint, considering the little bugger had nearly gotten him into a heterosexual nightmare.  
  
“’Your scowl is like the sweetest breeze,’” Potter told him. “‘It soothes my weary brow.’” The boy squinted, apparently deep in thought. “‘Your voice is deep and low, like the mooing of a—’”  
  
“Don’t even say it _once,_ Potter,” Snape spat.  
  
“Well, what else rhymes with ‘brow?’” Harry said reasonably. “Maybe I should go for something in a more non-traditional scheme. ‘Your eyes are the depths of ambiguous morality,’” he began with great relish.  
  
“Snape!” another voice broke in. It sounded very angry. Severus looked up to see Lucius Malfoy bearing down on him, his cane tucked under one arm as he swept past a suit of armour, his haughty face tight with ire.  
  
Severus sighed heavily, leaning against the wall. Potter’s popularity potion certainly wasn’t working very well if half the people he encountered wanted to molest him and the other half wanted him dead. On the other hand, perhaps that really was how popularity worked. It did seem to fit with his recollection of the more popular children when he was back at school. But he’d always got on with Lucius; what the devil was the man’s problem now?  
  
“Yes?” he said, arching a brow.  
  
Harry swooned.  
  
“Draco’s grades are falling,” the man hissed. “I demand to know why.”  
  
“Why on earth should you care?” Snape retorted. “He’s being groomed for a life of swanning, sneering and subservience to evil overlords, so I doubt his current curriculum is going to help appreciably in any case.”  
  
Lucius looked very angry, his perfect white teeth grinding. “I like to think I’m a reasonable gentleman,” he began, but Snape cut him off.  
  
“Yes, and I like to think I’m the queen of Spain, but that doesn’t make it so. Draco’s grades have fallen because he spends more time tormenting Potter and coming up with laboured insults than he does studying. Period. It is nothing to me if he doesn’t wish to develop any intellect greater than that of a tinned mackerel. ”  
  
Lucius’ gloved hand met Snape’s cheek with a loud thwack.  
  
Snape blinked a little. Potter jerked his wand out, but Severus waved him back. “You absolute puffed up ponce!” Snape snarled. “How dare you?”  
  
The men faced each other, nose to nose, breathing heavily. Lucius’ chin rose, his lip lifting disdainfully. He took a deep breath, and Severus steeled himself for the torrent of tedious self-entitlement that was surely about to pour from the man’s mouth.  
  
Instead, he found himself slammed against the wall and kissed quite thoroughly by a much more skilled pair of lips than Potter’s. “Mph?” he said.  
  
“Hey! _Hey!_ Get off of him!” Harry yelled, tugging fruitlessly on Malfoy’s arm.  
  
Malfoy had insinuated a leg between Severus’—but then he was always so good at insinuation—and was moving just slightly, a serpentine glide of his hips. . .  
  
“I want to play, too,” Harry was whining, but Snape ignored him.  
  
Even if Lucius _hadn't been_ an excellent lover, there was always the blackmail material and possible humiliation for later, and that was quite enough for Snape to stream his fingers through that long, silken hair, marvelling at its snake-like, coiling smoothness. Lucius hummed around Severus’ tongue, and that was even headier.  
  
Severus could feel his own body responding, his prick twitching, coming to hardness in his trousers as Lucius thrust against him.  
  
Suddenly Lucius stiffened. His mouth came away from Severus’, still wet.  
  
“Really, Lucius, so soon?” Snape asked with a mixture of scorn and disappointment. “I know I’m incredible, but we’d hardly gotten started. One would think a man of your age would have gotten past any problems with premature ejaculation. Then again, at your age, perhaps it’s a wonder you’re able to mess about at all.”  
  
Lucius’ eyes seemed to be rolled back in his head. Snape was about to comment on that—how Lucius always rolled his eyes when he couldn’t think of anything particularly scathing to say—but then the man was slumping to the floor.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Harry looked defensive. He was holding Lucius’ snake-headed cane. “I was only protecting you,” he said. “Besides, you were ignoring me.”  
  
“Arrogant brat. Did I look like I wanted protection?”  
  
Potter frowned, but then looked guilty, glancing at Lucius’ unconscious form.  
  
“We’d better get out of here. He’s going to have a headache when he wakes, and he’ll be a raging bitch, I’ve no doubt. I’d rather not have to deal with him.”  
  
“All right,” Harry said amenably.  
  
“Give me the cane.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Spoils of war.”  
  
“I hate to point this out, but I’m the one who hit him, not you.”  
  
“And in who’s name, might I ask? Other than the name of raging jealousy, of course,” Snape asked dryly, and Harry pinked and handed him the stick. “Good. Come on. Let’s try to make it to my rooms before I’m needlessly and wantonly ravished again.”  
  
“Okay,” Harry chirped.  
  
“We’ll take the long way,” Snape added.  
  


OoOoOoOoO

  
  
“Why are we wandering around the dungeons?” Harry asked.  
  
“Why not?” Snape hedged.  
  
“Because I want to go back to your rooms. I want to be alone. I want you to—”  
  
“Professor?”  
  
Snape turned, beaming at Draco. “Ah. I’ve just come back from visiting with your father.”  
  
Draco eyed Harry suspiciously. “What’s _he_ doing here?”  
  
Snape shrugged. “Never mind that. Your father believes you need extra attention, and I’m inclined to agree.”  
  
“Where is Father?”  
  
“Ah . . . collateral damage,” Snape explained, gesturing helplessly. “Now, go and get Blaise Zabini and meet me in my chambers. We’re having a private study session.”  
  
Draco looked reluctant. “Why Zabini?”  
  
“Because he’s extremely talented—er—at potions, and he’ll be able to help you with your grades. Help you to learn some valuable skills.” Snape licked his lips.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, in return for my first born child, maybe. It’s not as if he’s going to do it for nothing,” he added. “He’s one of _us._ ”  
  
“Bribes aren’t the only way to accomplish things, Draco,” Snape told the boy kindly. “There’s also blackmail, coercion and a thousand other delights. Now go.”  
  
“Why do we have to start right away?” Draco demanded suspiciously.  
  
Snape heaved a sigh. “Forget it. Come here and sniff me.” Potter scowled, but didn’t object.  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“I said come here and take a deep whiff.”  
  
“Why?” Draco gaped, baffled.  
  
“I’ve an expensive new cologne and I’d like your opinion of it.”  
  
Still looking puzzled, Draco took a step towards him, then another. “I don’t smell anything.”  
  
He looked nervous and Snape had a sudden suspicion. He looked over his shoulder to see Potter suddenly still. “Motioning him not to do it? As though he would trust _you_. You’re a Gryffindor.”  
  
“As if he would trust _you_ ,” Harry retorted. “You’re a Slytherin!”  
  
“Touche,” Snape answered with a smile. “Draco?” he turned.  
  
Draco’s eyes were unfocussed, his lips parted just a little. Snape reached out and caressed the boy and Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. “Oh, _Professor_ ,” Draco murmured. Suddenly his eyes shot open wide and he launched himself at the man. “I want you!” he cried, just as Snape shouted, “ _My back!_ ”  
  
“That’s what you get,” Harry said with deep satisfaction as they fell to the floor.  
  
“Oof,” was all Snape could say, winded.  
  
Draco was straddling the man, whimpering as he nuzzled Snape’s chest. “Oh, Severus, whip out your snake and show me why it’s called _Slytherin_ ,” Draco begged.  
  
Harry looked apoplectic and whipped Lucius’ cane up over his head as though to bring it crashing down on Draco.  
  
“Don’t you dare!” Snape shouted.  
  
Harry’s face screwed up. “Why not?”  
  
“Because . . .” Snape stared up at Draco, who was working to undo the man’s buttons. “This is wonderful. I’m going to build a harem and line you up in a row, bottoms up, and fuck you one at a time. And when I run out of energy I’m going to sit back, put on some music with a lot of bass, hose you down with a slickening serum and watch you play nice with each other.”  
  
Harry squatted next to them. “Really?” he said, bemused. “You were going to make me get it on with Draco and make us your own private peep show?”  
  
“You make it sound so ignoble. No, you see, I’m in favour of promoting inter-House unity, that’s all.”  
  
Harry smirked. “You’re such a pervert. A sexy, snarky, cunning pervert,” he added with a slight moan as Draco undid his trousers and thrust a hand inside.  
  
“Whoo!” Draco hollered. “I think I just caught a fish for the records, judging by the size.”  
  
“Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Potter! And Severus . . . I demand an explanation.”  
  
Snape looked weakly up at Professor McGonagall. “I was injured. I attempted to make it back to my rooms. The boys were assisting me.”  
  
“I hardly think masturbation is a sanctioned component of ‘assistance’ in getting to one’s rooms,” the woman said icily. She jerked Draco away. “Go to your dormitory,” she snapped. “And thirty points from Slytherin for lewd public behaviour and another ten for a complete lack of shame.”  
  
Snape looked up at her. “He should get at least five back for doing it correctly,” he said soberly.  
  
McGonagall scowled, then knelt beside him. “Here, I’ll assist you in a somewhat less sleazy and morally corrupt way.”  
  
“No, don’t,” Snape said weakly, raising his hand to ward her off, but it was too late.  
  
The woman’s hands had gone from wrapping comfortingly round his shoulders to sensually having a feel about his bony body that she’d never chanced to explore before. It was a new land, and one that had potential. “Severus,” she moaned, and Snape moaned in unison. “I’ve always wanted to beat Slytherin. But suddenly I have an irresistible urge to beat _you_ , as well. I want to take you down and tie you to a table and spread your legs and _paddle_ you.”  
  
Snape whimpered. “Potter! Potter! The stick!”  
  
Harry hesitated. “I can’t whack my own Head of House,” he said.  
  
“Please, just a love tap. Just enough to knock some sense into her.”  
  
“I can’t . . .”  
  
Snape yelped. “Chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just exasperatingly stupid.”  
  
“Wait here,” Minerva suddenly announced, rising to her feet.  
  
“Where are you going?” Snape asked in terror. If she were to report him . . .  
  
“I’m going to get my leather chaps.”  
  
“Whaaaaaa?” said Snape like a leaky tyre.  
  
“And I’ll need my boots and black leather corset . . . perhaps a whip as well. Candles? What am I saying, _you’ve_ got candles.” She pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”  
  
Snape waited until she’d rounded the corner before grasping Harry’s ankle. “Get me out of here! We have less than an hour to barricade ourselves in my room and reinforce it with every means known to man!” He allowed Harry to help him on his feet, grasped the boy’s wrist and took off at a dead run, practically dragging Harry along.  
  
“We’re finally going back to your rooms?” Harry asked eagerly.  
  
“Yes,” Snape said. “Let’s just hope we avoid everyone else on the way. There goes my hope for an all-teen homosexual harem. Well, perhaps we’ll try again another time.”  
  


OoOoOoOoO

  
  
“Have either of yeh seen Fang about? He followed me inteh the castle and now he’s run off.”  
  
Severus felt his entire body go cold, as if he’d been plunged into an icy ocean of _God, please, no._ He turned his head—Hagrid was right beside them. “RUN, POTTER!” he shrieked. “RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!” He grabbed Harry’s hand and hauled him away, stumbling along as quickly as he could while having to depend heavily on Malfoy’s cane for support. With every step the terror built as he pictured the floor trembling while Hagrid lumbered after them, lust writ in his eyes.  
  
“What the devil’s got inteh him, then?” he heard the half-giant rumble in a puzzled voice.  
  
“I thought you _wanted_ more blokes,” Harry was saying in a voice filled with wicked glee. “I thought you wanted a _harem_.”  
  
“YOU’RE NOT AMUSING!” Snape yelled.  
  
Harry laughed buoyantly, keeping up with Snape’s long strides without problem. Of course, they weren’t as long as usual—they were a bit short and uneven. He was less running than he was hobbling quickly.  
  
“Lemme know if yeh see ‘im!” Hagrid’s voice called out behind them.  
  
Snape gave a minute shiver. “Right. Potter, you’re the only one for me,” he swore. “Greed has gotten the better of me too many times. I’ll be more careful of that in the future. One pathetically ardent lithe young sex slave will just have to be enough, sadly. That means you’ll have to work double time,” he added.  
  
“Yes, sir!” They reached Snape’s rooms and barrelled in.  
  
Harry began stripping as soon as the door shut behind them. Snape stared. “We . . . need to reinforce the door before you distract me,” he managed.  
  
Harry pouted. As sullen as he often looked, Snape had never actually seen the boy pout before. He could sell it—and possibly anything else in the vicinity when he did it, as well.  
  
Snape’s cock, which had never fully deflated from Lucius’ earlier attempts at molestation, sat up and begged. Snape made a great effort to stagger over to his personal potions cabinet and retrieve a few things.  
  
“What’s that?” Harry asked as Snape carefully poured a few drops of one russet coloured liquid on the door. It dripped toward the floor, then began to sink into the grain of the wood. A moment later, a branch sprouted, reaching for the ceiling, popping a few buds of leaves here and there. Snape watched these unfurl, then glanced down, where roots where busily burrowing into the floor. He nodded in satisfaction.  
  
“That’s step one,” Snape explained distractedly. He worked the stopper out of another bottle and upended it at his feet. It had the colour and consistency of wet cement, and when it hit the stones, they bubbled up, grinding against each other, rumbling as they doubled and tripled and built themselves into a serviceable wall. “What do you think? One more?”  
  
Harry seemed to reflect on a vision of Professor McGonagall slobbering on Snape, and the boy scowled. “At least,” he said vehemently.  
  
“Oh, all right. It’s going to be a ruddy mess to clean up later, you understand.” Snape took out another bottle, this one’s liquid hyacinth red with little flecks of yellow. He poured it carefully, his arm stretched out rather further than with the previous bottle. This potion ate away the stones at his feet and became a river of molten lava.  
  
Harry nodded to Snape’s hand, where he held one last potion. “What’s that for?”  
  
Snape looked down. “This? All the better to fuck you with, my dear.”  
  
Harry gave Snape a wolfish look, then attacked.  
  
“WATCH THE DAMNED LAVA!” Snape screamed.  
  
“Whoops.” Luckily, Draco had undone most of the buttons and Snape was able to wiggle out of his outer robes, the hems of which had caught fire.  
  
He stood, panting. “Ground rules,” he said. “You do as I say. You be cautious of the lava and my back. You will make an effort down and working with dexterity rather than sheer exuberance. And you bottom.”  
  
Harry saluted. “Yes, sir!” He pulled Snape away from the fiery pool and his flaming clothes, then tried to clamber up him again.  
  
“Potter, I don’t think you apprehend the basics of sexual intercourse,” the man said irritably. “It should ideally start with both of us naked and horizontal, not with you planting your foot in my crotch in a misguided attempt to scale me like Mount Everest.”  
  
“Sorry,” Harry panted. “I can’t help it. I _want_ you. I can’t keep my hands off you.”  
  
“Nor your feet, apparently. Down, boy.” He began dragging Harry to the bedroom.  
  
“Where are we going? Why can’t we just have wild monkey sex right here?” Harry whined. “Doesn’t a bed sort of take the spontaneity out of it?”  
  
“Trust me, there never was any, really,” Snape said. “And I’ve told you, my back is wonky. I’m not going to get all banged up on the hard stone floors in the name of passionate impulse or anything else.”  
  
“I just want to get banged,” Harry said chipperly.  
  
“You know, your loose behaviour is making this slightly less satisfying. I’d be happier with a ‘please, don’t’ or nice little gasp of alarm.” They shuffled into the bedroom, Harry by now supporting most of Snape’s weight, the man’s arm slung round his shoulders.  
  
Harry’s face lit up. “What a big bed!” he cried.  
  
“The better to ravage you on,” Snape sighed. “Only you could take all the fun out of rape,” he added.  
  
Harry launched himself onto the bed, bouncing obscenely. “Come and get me,” he growled, spreading his legs wide.  
  
Snape stared at him. “So much for any semblance of hard to get,” he muttered. He crawled into bed and settled in as Harry kissed every available patch of skin.  
  
“More, more, more,” Harry was moaning as he went. His fingers swept over Snape’s body again and again in reverent appreciation, skimming over his stomach, teasing through the dark curls at the base of Severus’ cock.  
  
Snape let out a shuddery breath. “Boy,” he said, and Harry looked up, his head tilted expectantly to one side. His mouth pursed to form the word ‘what,’ and Snape’s eyes were drawn to his lips. Lovely, dusty-pink, rose petal lips. Snape brushed a finger over them. “Come up here and let me teach you how to kiss,” he murmured.  
  
Harry came obediently, allowing Severus to cup his face gently in one hand. “Relax your mouth,” the man instructed. “It’s a gentle meeting of mouths, not an exercise in vacuuming up poison.”  
  
Harry’s lips parted and Snape pulled him down, kissing him softly. Harry pulled back for a breath to be drawn down again, deeper this time as Snape explored the fluttering charms of Harry’s tongue. Harry moaned softly and Snape indulged in an urge to bury a hand in that soft hair, holding him in place to be lavishly kissed, velvety tongues thrashing against each other.  
  
Finally Harry broke off, gasping, his skin flushed and his eyes hazy. “Oh, my god,” he panted.  
  
“That is how one kisses,” Snape said with an imperious sniff, eyeing Harry’s glazed and inviting lips. “Now to taste the rest of you.”  
  
Harry quivered and Snape pinned him to the bed with one spindly hand, bending over him for another candied kiss before moving down to run his tongue over Harry’s jaw line. The boy was moaning continuously and incoherently, hands not touching Snape, but rubbing his own chest, thighs and stomach. Snape’s tongue danced along the column of Harry’s throat, ran flat out over his sternum.  
  
Harry whimpered. “Please, sir, more.”  
  
Snape rolled his eyes. “Do you have your bowl?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Never mind, Mr. Twist.” Severus bent, lapping a flat nipple until it popped up into a hard little aching nub, Harry’s free hand trying to imitate the movement of Snape’s tongue on its counterpart.  
  
Potter was a picture of delicious depravity, sinful mewls escaping his lips, his lovely flesh a palate of cream and scarlet. His prick strained for the sky, throbbing and dripping pre-come like sugary icing. Snape leaned down and took the boy into his throat in one quick gulp, though only briefly before pulling away. This was partly because he had to admonish Potter not to yell like that again or he’d rupture Snape’s eardrum, but also because he really didn’t want the boy getting used to this sort of treatment.  
  
He doubled Harry’s legs, nosing his way down behind the boy’s ball sack and listening to the desperate sounds becoming more distressed. “Don’t—you can’t—”  
  
Ah, how melodious.  
  
Snape ignored him, pressing his salivating tongue into the sucking heat of Harry’s body. Harry arched, crying out. Snape shut his eyes, basking in the helpless noises Harry made and the constriction of the boy’s body. Snape’s tongue was followed by his wicked, clever fingers and a bit of lubricant, which drew even more entertaining sounds from the brat.  
  
Finally, when he deemed the boy sufficiently prepared, Snape flopped back down on the bed.  
  
Harry’s whole body clenched in horror. “ _Please_ tell me this isn’t some sort of twisted revenge for me being naughty in class,” he said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I mean, you’re not seriously going to take me this far and refuse to go further, are you?”  
  
“Don’t be stupid, boy! I was waiting for you to mount me. My back won’t permit a more adventurous position at the moment, more’s the pity.”  
  
“Oh!” Harry said, vastly relieved. “I heard that was kind of a difficult way to do it, for a first time.”  
  
Snape gave him a scornful glance. “I would care because . . ?”  
  
“Well, I’ll try anything once,” Harry added quickly when he realized the alternative was to stop.  
  
He carefully got atop Snape, trying to aim the man’s cock correctly, which took several tries. Finally, Harry sank down completely, his muscles quivering at the strain.  
  
“More,” Snape rasped.  
  
Harry rose and slipped down again, his body beginning a sensuous rhythm. Snape ran a hand up his flank, enjoying the satiny feel of the boy’s firm flesh. Harry’s prick bobbed as he rode the man, but Snape did not make any move to caress it and batted Harry’s hand away when he tried.  
  
“You concentrate on _me,_ ” Snape told him, and Harry nodded, unable to choke out an answer. God, the boy looked good like this. His hair was a sweaty mess, his glasses falling off, his eyes shut tight as he struggled to take Snape’s girth and length.  
  
Harry was biting his lower lip hard, giving grunts of not-quite-pleasure as he rode the man to the best of his ability. Snape fluttered a hand up the boy’s front, tweaking a nipple and making Harry cry out breathlessly.  
  
“Faster, boy,” Snape directed, thrilling at the brat’s performance.  
  
“I—yes—I’ll—try,” Harry gasped, splaying his hands on Snape’s chest as drove himself back on Snape’s eager cock.  
  
“Oh, yessss,” Snape hissed. “Harder. _Harder,_ damn you!”  
  
“C-can’t,” Harry stuttered, sweaty hands groping Severus as he looked for purchase.  
  
“Not good enough,” Snape said in a clipped voice. Harry made an effort, but it was obvious he was beginning to run out of energy; his leg muscles were trembling, a wisp of hair falling into his eyes, bouncing there as Harry thrust himself down as hard as he could.  
  
“Why must I do all the work?” Snape griped. He grabbed Harry’s slender hips, allowing the boy to raise himself up a short ways, then slammed him down again.  
  
Harry threw his head back and wailed, a ribbon of seed spurting up over Snape’s chest. The man rocked Harry harder, faster, until the boy was barely coming off at all before being yanked back down.  
  
Snape felt his balls tighten, felt Harry’s arsehole clenching, sucking him in deeper, and he came, hands still clamped on Harry’s hips. He held the boy there, savouring the small whimpers still escaping those sweet lips as Harry milked him dry.  
  
Finally Snape let go, relaxing, and Harry fell to one side with a thud. “Oh, my god,” the boy moaned. “Oh, wow. That was . . . fuck.”  
  
Snape nodded, still panting. “That’s about the right word for it,” he agreed.  
  
There was a moment of post-coital awkwardness where they looked at each other, each unsure of what to do. Finally Harry scooted closer, resting his head on Severus’ arm. “Can I stay the night?” he asked.  
  
Snape gave this a moment’s reflection. “Considering all I did to block the door, it would probably be for the best,” he agreed.  
  
“Oh, good,” Harry yawned. He snuggled closer, sticky and sated, and promptly began to fall asleep on Snape’s chest.  
  
Snape glanced at the nightstand, where there was a large tome. He reached out and opened it to where he’d left off. _When brewing the popularity potion, it read, it is important to remember that it need not be stirred for more than a quarter of an hour. The longer the brew is stirred, the stronger it will become. To continue mixing it past its finishing time risks not only a serious case of lust in the first person it is introduced to, but a dangerous lifelong infatuation, as well. Tests on mice have shown that not only will the test subjects rut to exhaustion after exposure, but upon waking begin rutting all over again._  
  
“I’m really sorry about exploding that potion on you,” Harry murmured sleepily.  
  
Snape removed the bookmark and swiftly banished the book back to its shelf, and petted Harry’s messy hair contentedly. “I shouldn’t worry about it,” he told the boy kindly. “After all, accidents happen.”


End file.
